Vellichor
by Lostinfic
Summary: Vellichor: n. the strange wistfulness of used bookstores, which are somehow infused with the passage of time. Rose's favourite chippy has been turned into a bookstore, and she finds herself spending a lot of time there, in the company of its fascinating owner.
1. Chapter 1

Inspired by jessi-girl9's request for more book store AUs on timepetalsprompts blog.

The name of the bookstore was suggested by Gallifreyireland.

* * *

Her favourite chippy had been turned into a bookstore overnight.

Okay, not overnight exactly, but quickly enough that there had been no warning signs.

On top of everything going pear-shaped these days, no one had thought to inform her the most delicious chips this side of the Thames would be replaced by stupid old books.

Even the store front had changed, painted a royal blue, and yet she'd seen no painters at work over the last weeks.

You'd think it had just materialized there.

"The turn of the Earth" claimed hand-painted gold letters above the door. Bit pompous, she reckoned.

Rose leaned against the glass door to peer inside, holding her hands around her eyes. She almost fell flat on her face when the door opened.

"You coming in or not?" said a man in a rough northern voice.

"Uh? Oh, no, sorry."

She walked away, but a few steps later she heard: "By the way, did I mention it's two for one today?"

She could never resist a bargain, she was Jackie's child after all.

The inside of the building had changed so much, it was like stepping through some magic portal to another place. It seemed twice as big as the chippy had been with vaulted ceilings she'd never noticed before.

Like a peacock displays its feathers, the shop wore its books with pride. Pages were fanned out to expose beautiful illustrations, leather covers shined as if polished and antiques were showcased in glass cabinets. Bookcases stood tall, reaching all the way to the ceiling. The building looked new and ancient all at one. Chaotic yet harmonious. A shiny laptop opened next to a typewriter, chandeliers and neon lights, and dust motes like glitter in the streaming light.

The owner, on the other hand, looked like any regular bloke. He was smiling, though, bright and wide, contagiously. He watched her taking it all in, with arms crossed and feet planted firmly apart— master of his domain. She was his first customer, she realized.

"If it's a new shop how comes it looks so old?" Rose asked.

"Oi! S'not old, it's… classic."

She chuckled and ran her hand over the varnished wood of the shelf. The stale smell of paper and ink had already overpowered the one of fried food.

"What d'you do with all the potatoes and fish?"

"Turned them into books," he said seriously. "Got a machine out back, special for that."

Not a smile betrayed his joke. He was still observing her as though he was picky with clients.

"Oh, is that right? I've got a machine that turns apples into socks."

That earned her a smirk.

"Show me your books, then."

"Right this way."

She sauntered alongside him as he guided her through meandering rows of books.

The classification system was eccentric. There was a logic to it, if not the one clients might expect.

Authors who had known each other met again on the shelves: Anaïs Nin and Henry Miller, Mary Shelley and Lord Byron, the Fitzgeralds with Hemingway, Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir.

It was endearing, this effort to reunite them in a sort of literary afterlife.

Jack Kerouac's _On the Road_ could be found with USA travel guides, and books on nuclear power with Spider-Man comics. _Pride and Prejudice_ with _Bridget Jones' Diary_. _Treasure Island, The Wizard of Oz_ and _A Christmas Carol_ were next to one another. "All Muppets films," he explained. _Alice in Wonderland_ was tucked between a DIY hats manual and a Tea Party album. Bright yellow and deep blue books surrounded Van Gogh biographies. The entire Sherlock Holmes collection stood amongst issues of _Pipe Smoker Quarterly_.

To hell with the Dewey decimal system.

He didn't want clients to find what they were looking for, he wanted them to discover something new.

A phone rang— a proper old-fashioned ring, what else— and the owner left her to answer.

Rose trailed her fingers along the book spines, feeling the ridges and creases of old volumes, the warmth of worn-out paper, and gliding over the cool, smooth covers of newer ones.

She pulled one out at random. _Whip it_ , right next to a Devo album and a roller derby fashion magazine. She opened it to read the first sentence, and by the time the man came back, she was sitting on the floor, already on the second chapter.

"Sorry." She started getting up.

"No worries, keep on reading. I'm the Doctor, by the way."

"Rose."

"Enjoy your book, Rose."

He smiled and stepped over her legs. And she kept on reading while the Doctor worked beside her in silence. Music played faintly in the background, something pop punk that was the perfect soundtrack to the words on the page. She let it all carry her away. She took a break from this world.

Every once in a while, she'd glance the Doctor's way and find him contemplating a shelf with a serious frown, then he'd move a book one spot to the left or discard it altogether over his shoulder. Sometimes, he'd take off and come back with a single item to place on the shelf, and he'd look at the result with something like beatific satisfaction.

She had to correct her former assessment: he was no ordinary bloke.

"Closing time," he announced much to Rose's surprise.

That's when she noticed the numbness in her bum from sitting on the hardwood floor all afternoon. She stretched her legs and neck. Her body might be ready to move, but she wasn't ready to let go of the story she was reading. Looking at the price tag at the back, she sighed. This one was new, and a bit pricier than she could afford right now.

"You can come back tomorrow," he told her.

"Yeah?"

"Of course."

At 9am on the dot, she stood in front of the bookshop.

It wasn't opened yet.

She pulled up her hood and bunched her sleeves in her fists to ward off the autumn chill, and leaned against the wall, waiting for the Doctor.

All night, she had thought about the novel and couldn't wait to know what would happen next to Bliss Cavendar. Hopefully, her experience with a boyfriend in a rock band would go better than Rose's.

She would never have described herself as an avid reader, but she had been reading more and more over the last years. It probably had something to do with being out of school… and escaping her own boring life.

"You're late," Rose said with a teasing grin when the Doctor got out of his car. "It says 9am on the sign."

"It's my shop, it opens when I get here and not a minute later."

He unlocked the front door and chucked his leather coat on the counter. Rose found her spot and dived back in the book.

The next day, Rose bought a coffee cup on the way, to warm her fingers. The day after, she brought a thermos of tea and poured a cup for the Doctor too.

Whereas they had stayed in companionable silence over the previous days, each doing their own thing, Rose found herself distracted by him today. She hadn't been brought up to stand idly by while someone else did all the work. Especially cleaning. Especially when said person let her read his books for free. Without a word, she put her novel aside and took another rag from the bucket of soapy water.

"Teamwork, yeah?"

The Doctor's eyebrows rose in surprise, but he let her do it.

Something upbeat played over the stereo, giving an extra swing to her dusting.

"Ian Dury and the Blockheads," the Doctor informed her, "and it's not _disco_ , it's new wave."

Her mobile vibrated in her pocket, she wiped her hand on her jeans before taking it. One look at the screen and she decided to ignore it. The Doctor noticed but didn't ask.

After a while, he stopped cleaning and tinkered with a pulley system he'd created to access the highest shelves. It looked like a cross between a hot air balloon and a swing

"How does that thing work?" she asked him.

His face broke into a grin.

"Want to try it?"

"It's for people?"

"Come on!" He patted the wooden seat.

Rose hopped on it and swung her feet with a giggle, half nerves, half joy. The Doctor pushed a button and Rose lurched two feet up. She yelped and grabbed the sides with white-knuckled fists. With every push on the button, wheels and gears squeaked, steam came out of a pipe, and she was carried higher.

"Fantastic! It works!"

"You weren't sure it would?!"

"I was 99% sure." He huffed. "Make that 90%... 80."

"Oh, my god! How do I get back down there?"

"Ah."

"Doctor!"

The bell above the door jingled.

"Don't go anywhere."

"Where would I go?" Rose shouted, but he'd already scampered off.

She avoided looking down (it wasn't that high, but she'd definitely break something were she to fall) by perusing the closest shelves. She smiled at the titles: _Cloud Atlas_ , _The Kite Runner_ , _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Wuthering Heights.._.

She picked a novel called _A long way down_ that turned out to be about four people who want to throw themselves off a building. It was actually quite funny and Rose's laughter scared a client who hadn't seen her perched up there.

"Rose, I'm coming to get you."

She looked up from her book and saw the Doctor carrying a tall ladder. He placed it against the wall, but it wasn't quite tall enough to reach her. Okay, now she was getting a little scared. The Doctor climbed all the way up and stood precariously on the last bar.

"Can you stand up?" he asked. "Here, put your hands on my shoulders. That's it."

She held on to him tightly as she stepped over the side of the crate.

"Now you need to come here."

"How?" she squeaked, staring at the gap between them.

"Hold on tight."

He grasped her waist and lifted her, making her scream. She clasped her arms around his neck and dug her fingernails in the wool of his jumper. Soon, she felt something solid under her foot, he'd placed her next to him on the ladder. She breathed out a sigh of relief but still didn't let go of the Doctor.

"Sorry. Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she mumbled against his shoulder.

He rubbed her back in broad circles, and Rose quickly recovered, but waited to tell him she was fine. He smelled like his books, only a bit muskier.

They made it back to the floor safely. They hugged once more, laughing this time.

"Maybe get a guinea pig," Rose said.

"I'll think about it. Blimey, is it two already? I've a delivery. D'you mind keeping an eye on the shop? Gimme a shout if anyone comes in."

"Sure."

Taking her role very seriously, Rose settled with her book by the front door. Not ten minutes later, a young woman walked in. Rose welcomed her. She smiled back at Rose, displaying an adorable gap between her front teeth.

"I'm looking for books on spiritualism, you know, seances and such," she asked with a Welsh accent.

No need to bother the Doctor for something like that.

"Right this way, miss."

As they walked through the rows of books, Rose chatted with the client thus distracting her from the fact that she had no idea where to find books on spiritualism. Gwyneth had ditched school to come here today. Apparently there was a long history of "the sight" in her family.

"I never really believed it, but I started getting these— these flashes when I look at someone. Anyway, I wanna know more."

She found books on spirits right after _Life of Pi_. Gwyneth browsed the selection and leafed through a few volumes, still chatting with Rose.

"Think this one's out of place," she said, holding _The Mystery of Edwin Drood_ by Charles Dickens _._

"I'm sure it's right where it's supposed to be," Rose replied.

Gwyneth read the blurb on the back and smiled. She would take this one too. When she was ready to pay, Rose fetched the Doctor.

"There's a client—" she stopped dead in her tracks: the Doctor was shirtless. He'd been moving delivery boxes around, and sweat was beading on his forehead. But more importantly, he was fit.

"You were saying?"

"Erm, ha, client."

Much to Rose's disappointment, he put his jumper back on. She followed him to the cash register.

She might have glanced at his bum.

Okay, more than glanced.

Fine, she ogled. Not just the bum, his whole frame, noticing the way the wool clung to his arms, draped over his shoulder-blades and hinted at the curve of his lower back.

And then back at his bum.

He glanced at her over his shoulder with an amused glint in his eyes, and she could only hope he didn't notice her blush.

Before leaving, Gwyneth turned and looked between the two of them, smiling.

"Lucky you," she said.

The Doctor and Rose exchanged a quizzical look. Rose shrugged it off and returned to her novel, but she could feel the Doctor's eyes linger on her.


	2. Chapter 2

"I've finished!" Rose declared the next day.

She bounced up the aisle and grabbed the banister to swivel into the Doctor's field of view.

"What should I read next?"

"Well, you can't decide that, can you? You have to let the books choose you."

She wanted to laugh but couldn't. He was so sincere.

"So, you're telling me you've never chosen a book?"

"Nope. I find them abandoned in train stations, or left behind at yard sales, some were gifts, of course, and once I had a book fall right on this daft noggin!" he said. "I never know where they'll take me, but they always take me where I need to go."

"You're barmy," she said, voice filled with affection.

"Go on, then, have a gander, a book's waiting for you."

"Can I go upstairs?"

"Stop asking questions and just go."

A customer walked in, and the Doctor left Rose to greet him. She did as bid, and decided to explore the second floor. There were stacks of books on each side of the steps, and on her way up, she tripped on one. _Girl with a pearl earring_. Rose smiled and picked it up, recognizing the painting on the cover. She sat down on the steps and started reading right away.

When she tore her eyes away from the page, the Doctor was looking at her from the bottom of the stairs. She held up the book to show him the cover, and he nodded approvingly. He held her gaze for a few seconds before turning away.

When she resumed reading, she came across this sentence: "You're so calm and quiet, you never say. But there are things inside you. I see them sometimes, hiding in your eyes."

She looked up from her novel again, seeking the Doctor. He was standing in front of a shelf but he wasn't seeing it, he was staring in the middle distance.

"Where are you from?" she asked him.

"Here."

"London?"

"The United Kingdom."

"Yeah, but where in the UK?"

"You wouldn't know it."

"Try me."

"Where are _you_ from?"

"Peckam, the Powell Estate," she answered, jutting out her chin.

He placed a few books in a box.

"… Gallifrey."

"You're right, I don't know it… There must be an atlas somewhere here."

She had a feeling she wouldn't find one with the travel guides, but with the Greek mythology books and perhaps a certain Ayn Rand novel. She was right.

They sat side by side on the stairs and looked through the five atlas of Britain Rose had brought.

"Here," he said, pointing at a tiny point on a map of North England.

"It's not in this one." She compared the volumes. "So, what? Your hometown just disappeared off the map between '98 and 2005?"

Rose laughed.

The Doctor didn't.

He slapped the book shut and leaned away from her, elbows on the step behind him.

"What's it like in Gallifrey?" Rose asked softly, toying with her earring.

"Nothing special."

She waited for more, but he only clenched his jaw.

"All right, then tell me how you came to own a bookstore."

"I've work to do."

He stood up abruptly, leaving Rose on her own. She tried reading but found she couldn't quite focus. She was getting hungry anyway. Since the chippy had been replaced by the bookstore, she had to wander around to find something else to eat.

Half an hour later, she returned to the store holding take-out boxes already sploshed with greasy stains. The fragrance of cumin, curry and coriander floated in along with her. She placed the goods on the counter and handed a plastic fork to the Doctor.

"Dig in."

She couldn't afford books, but she could afford cheap Indian food.

He seemed surprised, not only by the offer of food, but that she'd come back.

"Encyclopaedias, door-to-door, that's how I started," he said.

Rose smiled around a forkful of rice.

As they ate, he told her the most amazing story. He'd traveled around the UK to sell those encyclopaedias, sleeping in his car and meeting all kinds of people. He'd been a _bouquiniste_ with his own kiosk by the Quai du Louvre in Paris. He'd worked at a comic book store in Melbourne and at a handcrafted prints studio in Nuremberg.

He'd done a lot of volunteer work as well, turning an old school bus into a mobile library in Madagascar, teaching English in rural Vietnam, and running a book club for veterans in Texas.

His whole face brightened up, eyes sparkling as he recounted his adventures from stumbling upon a first edition print of _Little Women_ in the sewers of New York to fighting off a lion cub with a copy of _Narnia._

He'd done so many things in so many places, you'd think he'd been alive for centuries.

His tales opened Rose's eyes to a whole new way of living one's life. Suddenly, the future didn't seem so dreadfully boring.

"Mind you, never made any money from that," he said, "but it's not a bad life."

She leaned closer to him, eyes wide with admiration.

"Why London now?" she asked. "You could be anywhere else in the world."

He shrugged and scraped the bottom of a box with his fork.

"Always find myself coming back here… and I'm glad I did."

The way he looked and smiled at her made her heart swell and blossom into laughter.

"I'm glad you did too."

* * *

On the fourth day, Rose found a seat had been put where she used to sit on the floor, by the window. It looked like it had been pulled from an old car. The frayed yellowish upholstery was patched with black tape. She made herself comfortable and dived right back into Griet and Vermeer's world. A world in which lapis lazuli was crushed in the cold Dutch dawn and the lightest touch could set your soul ablaze.

Once again, the music playing in the store complimented her reading. Classical music, something wistful made of caressed strings and tickled drum skin. It came from a gramophone this time, a massive antique, all polished metal and textured sound. Notes floated out of it like dandelion seeds in the breeze.

She could almost smell the canals of Delft and the linseed oil in the painter's studio. Or was it the nearby Thames and the Doctor's herbal tea?

It's the warmth of sunrays on her cheek that pulled her out of the story.

"Welcome back," the Doctor said with a gentle smile. "Let's get you some fresh air, eh?"

He filled a box with seasoned paperbacks, wrote "50P" on it, and placed it by the bench outside the store.

Together, they enjoyed the rare autumnal warmth, sitting side by side and leafing through an encyclopedia of Dutch painters. With every page turn, his hand brushed against hers.

On her way back home, she made a detour by the National Gallery. She dropped a handful of coins in the donation box and went directly to the information desk.

"D'you have any Johannes Vermeer paintings?"

She wasn't sure about the pronunciation, but the museum employee didn't correct her. With a map in hand, she strode down the corridors to room 25.

She sat on a bench in front of _A Young Woman standing at a Virginal_ and stared as though she'd never seen art in her entire life. She understood so much more now about light and shadows and life, yet couldn't put it into words.

When she stepped out of the museum, the world seemed different. Not in a drastic way, kind of like you can tell someone has been in your room even if nothing looks out of place. Maybe all the buildings had shifted a little to the left or someone had turned up the dial of the moonlight, just a notch.

Standing still in Trafalgar Square, she felt the turn of the Earth.

That night, she tried explaining it all to Shareen, but her friend just stared back blankly.

"We should go to the shops tomorrow, we haven't done that in ages. It'll put you out of your funk."

"I've got a work thing," Rose lied.

She went to bed hoping the feeling would pass.

Upon waking up, she looked out the window, and the foggy morning was infused with colours she had never noticed before.

The world hadn't changed— she had.

Jackie didn't notice over breakfast, neither did Mickey when they met in the car park of the estate, but the Doctor could tell. Something changed in the way he talked to her. Subtle, but there, like an equal rather than some young girl hanging around him. The shape of them was shifting, and she felt on the verge of understanding that shadow in his eyes.

"What are you hiding from?" the Doctor asked out of the blue.

"What makes you think I'm hiding from something?"

He gave her a look that told her he wasn't fooled. She chewed on her thumb nail before answering: "Mum's been nagging me about finding a job…"

"Don't you wanna work?"

"It's not that easy, is it? What with the economy."

"Aren't you a bit young to worry about the economy?"

Rose huffed.

She'd been worried about the economy all her life. Some years, it made the difference between going to school on a full or empty stomach. Between Jackie being there at night or not at all. At 24, she was already tired of worrying about the economy.

"S'just, there's got to be more than working in a shop. No offence."

"None taken, I'm my own boss. But you're right, there's got to be more to life."

There had been Henricks, and then the butcher, Boots and Super Dry, and she still couldn't afford to live on her own. Jackie liked to remind her that she would be able to afford it had she stayed with Mickey. Rose would rather live with her mum than with a man she didn't truly love. "The world's not a place for romantics, sweetheart." But the Doctor, he was a romantic, in the broadest sense of the word, and he'd made it just fine.

"You should hire me!" _And take me travelling with you._

"Is that right?"

"Yeah, I've worked in shops before, I know the sales pitch and how to use the cash register. Bet you five quid I can double your turnover."

"Five quid's not much compared to the wages I'd have to pay you."

"I'll do the first week for free."

Anything to get Jackie off her back.

"No. For all I know, I'll be gone in one week."

He turned on his heels and disappeared in the back store without an explanation.


	3. Chapter 3

Rose Tyler was a stubborn one. The Doctor's refusal to hire her at his bookstore didn't deter her, if anything it strengthened her desire. The following day, she showed up at "The Turn of the Earth" in freshly-pressed black trousers and a crisp white shirt. The Doctor narrowed his eyes at her as she handed him her CV.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"I'm here for the interview."

"I told you: I'm not hiring you."

"Why not?"

"It's my shop, my business and I take care of it on my own."

He walked away in long, quick strides. Perhaps he hoped to lose Rose in the maze of his shop, but she was right on his heels.

"You don't even need to ask questions; I've done so many interviews, I know them all. First, you wanna ask: tell me a little bit about yourself. Well, Doctor, I have a lot of experience working in shops. I love helping clients and I'm a quick learner." The Doctor ignored her, but she continued skipping right alongside him. "My greatest strength and weakness, you ask? I'm a cheerful person, always a smile on, me. But sometimes I get too chatty, and I talk with clients instead of doing my tasks. And teamwork? I love teamwork. Two heads are better than one, I always say."

The Doctor stopped abruptly and she bumped into him.

"Thank you for coming, miss Tyler." He shook her hand. "But we're not looking to hire right now."

"Oh, c'mon! You could _so_ use my help and you know it." She jabbed a finger on his chest. "I did it all last week, minding the shop when you were in the backstore. I'm practically working for you already."

"That what it was? Helping out to ask me for a job? Should've known you wanted something."

Before she could reply, the front door opened and in walked Jackie and Mickey. They waved at her, and the Doctor's scowl deepened.

"Hi! I'll be right with you," Rose pulled on the Doctor's sleeve to talk to him in private. "Okay, so I kinda told my mum I've been working here for a week."

"What?"

"I needed to get her off my back, just for a little while. Could you just please go along with it? Just for now. Please, Doctor."

She squeezed his forearm, trying to look as contrite as possible.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Just this once."

"Thank you!"

"But there'd better not be more of your family or mates showing up here. You're not making this place your hangout."

"No. No one else, just my mum and Mickey… and maybe my gran."

"Rose," he warned.

She smiled at him, tongue curling mischievously over her teeth. At long last, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He suppressed it immediately, but too late, she'd seen it. She squeezed his hand with a heartfelt thank before dashing away.

Rose showed Mickey and Jackie around, explaining the eccentric classification system. The Doctor stayed behind, but never far, keeping an eye on them.

"D'you have any of them Mills & Boon novels? The real raunchy ones," Jackie asked the Doctor. "Maybe you could help me re-enact a scene or two?"

"Ehm, no." He looked at Rose with a strange smile. "Why don't you show her the romance books." She sensed a test.

She guided her mother through the store, head high, long strides as if she knew exactly where she was going. She didn't. But she could buy herself some time to figure it out.

" _Think, Rose. Romance novels: romantic, love, couple, heart… Oh!"_

She managed to bring them back on their tracks without anyone noticing— except the Doctor who smiled smugly as though he'd already won the argument. However, his grin faltered as they neared the very heart of the store, the point where all major aisles crossed. A blue glass column rose in the middle. A staircase that lead nowhere spiraled around it, the steps used as shelves.

Rose shot the Doctor a triumphant look, but before she could gloat, she noticed her mother tearing up. Jackie had knelt by a crate of romance novels and held one to her chest.

"I was reading this one when I met your father." She sniffed. "I joked that he looked just like the bloke on the cover."

Rose put an arm around her mother's shoulder and hugged her tight. She glanced at the Doctor, he couldn't possibly have known, and yet… He smiled at her, no smugness, no mockery, just something gentle in the curve of his lips.

"Look what I found," Mickey announced, trotting their way with a grin. "The idiot's guide to saving the world."

"Good for you, Rickey."

Jackie and Mickey paid for their books and left the store. Rose turned to the Doctor, ready to brag, but he crossed his arms. She tried something else. Kinder words.

"Thank you. For pretending I work here."

He nodded once. She pleaded with her eyes for him to say something, but he didn't. The phone rang and he left her. He listened to the caller with a frown deepening between his eyebrows.

"What? You need me to come now?"

He sighed and looked at Rose.

"I can cover for you," she said.

He pointed a finger at her. "Don't do anything stupid."

Rose rolled her eyes, but as soon as he was gone, she did a little dance. She had a chance to be an exemplary employee and prove him wrong.

For the next hour, customers came and went. Some regulars, some newcomers. Some sat on the floor to read, some only took a gander at the place. Characters populated the shop: the med student who liked anatomy books. Some posh woman fascinated with plastic surgery. A temp addicted to wedding magazines. A girl Rose recognized from high school looking for soufflé recipe books.

Rose's feet hurt, but she stayed up to work. She dusted some shelves, swaying to Glenn Miller. She had yet to locate the audio controls. She didn't dare touch the many unidentified buttons and dials behind the counter.

A man walked in— a real life ken doll safe for the darker hair. He introduced himself as Jack with an American accent. Rose forgot to say her name in return and giggled a little too loud. Every bone in him was flirty and she didn't stand a chance.

 _Bloody hell,_ g _et a hold of yourself._

She noticed the book in his hands.

"Is that a hardcover or are you just happy to see me?"

He grinned and leaned towards her over the counter. "Both. Speaking of happy, I love mixing business with pleasure. And I hear you're in the business of buying books."

"I am." She leaned forward too.

"My great-uncle left me these." He kicked a box of volumes at his feet. "I don't know anything about antiques, but they look valuable to me. Think you can get me a good price for them?"

Rose knew the Doctor had some sort of binder for that, she'd seen him use it. She searched behind the counter through stacks of papers and found it next to an Indiana Jones figurine. It contained a list of price based on date of publication, number of pages and condition. At the end, there was a list of rare editions the Doctor wished to acquire.

Rose sat on the floor with the books and made a list of the titles. All of them were about the Second World War. She inspected each item carefully. She had to prove to the Doctor that his shop was in good hands with her. Easier said than done with Jack beside her. His ability to turn everything into a sexual innuendo proved rather distracting. She tried her best to scan the volumes for signs of wear and tear. But of course, Jack bargained at every turn, insisting on what good care his great-uncle took of the books. Indeed, most were in mint condition. Rose even wondered if they had ever been read. She started questioning him about that, but instead of answering, he leaned against a bookcase, thumbs hooked under his belt. He gave her a sultry look.

"You know," he began, "I'm not unlike a good book, myself."

"Yeah? How's that?"

"Once I start, you won't want to stop. I'll keep you up aaallll night."

"Promises, promises."

Rose had never shied away from a good flirt, but he was laying it on a bit thick. And she really wanted to do this job right. She continued appraising the books and calculated the total value: 193£. In the interest of the shop, she told Jack a lower amount to which he readily agreed. The old cash register, however, stubbornly refused to open its drawer.

"Actually, maybe it's for the best. I should talk to my… associate first."

"Your associate?"

"I'm your associate now?" The Doctor walked in. "I leave her alone an hour, and she gives herself a promotion. Next time I step out, she'll stage a coup."

Rose explained the situation. The Doctor picked up one of Jack's books, scanned the cover, fanned out the pages. He sniffed it and frowned. He even licked it. Jack and Rose exchanged a worried look and grimaced.

"They're fake," the Doctor declared.

Rose gawked at Jack who didn't have the decency to look contrite. She slapped his arm, but she was angrier at herself than at him. She'd been fooled like a debutante. With a cocky grin like his, she should have seen it coming.

"Mind you, they're good fakes. I'll give you 12£ for them."

"C'mon, Doc, it costs more to produce them."

"Take it or leave it."

Jack pretended to consider the offer, but he damn well knew no one else would buy them. The Doctor put the books on a shelf with a sign that read: "genuine fake books".

"No hard feelings, Rosie. How about you and I go out for a drink?"

"Well—"

"Her shift's not over yet," the Doctor interrupted.

"Oh, I'm working a shift now, am I?"

"I'll take a rain check, then," Jack said, "maybe I'll invite you too next time, Doc." He winked before exiting the shop.

The Doctor chuckled, shaking his head. Rose breathed a sigh of relief, his good mood had returned. When their gazes met, however, she found she'd spoken too soon. He crossed his arms and his eyes turned cold.

"How am I supposed to trust you with the shop if you give all my money to the first pretty boy who comes wandering in?"

"I didn't— "

"No, coz I got here in time."

"I used the same list you do!"

"I know what I'm doing. You don't."

"You think I'd've just thrown money at him? I was gonna ask you before. I'm not stupid."

"You could've fooled me!"

"S'just, I wanted to show you I could do it on my own."

"Well, you can't."

They glared at each other. Rose's blood boiled with anger.

"All right then. Let's see how you get on without me," she said. "I know you can't mind the shop on your own. You'll wait around here, all lonely, and you'll beg me to come back!"

Rose grabbed her purse and stormed out.

Or at least, she tried to; the shop wouldn't cooperate. The door was jammed. She jingled the door knob, pushed with her shoulder, thrust all her weight against the wood. It didn't budge. Angry tears prickled her eyes.

"Kinda ruined your exit," the Doctor said.

A laugh pushed its way past her annoyance and she couldn't stop it. She burst out laughing and the Doctor too. She laughed until she couldn't breathe, doubled over against the door. It wasn't mirth as much as nerves, letting out the tension that had been building in her. And between them. The Doctor stepped closer and tentatively touched her cheek. Rose's heart swelled in her chest.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'll learn. I want to learn. I can do what you do."

He searched her face for a moment, his features softened, looking more like the man she knew. He nodded. "I know you can."

A hopeful smile blossomed on her lips.

"Does this mean I can come back tomorrow?"

"No."

"But— "

"I never open on Sundays. Sundays are boring. You can open first thing Monday morning." He dug around in his pocket and fished out a key. "Have this."

He held Rose's hand and placed the key in her palm. She closed her fist tightly around it and, without a second thought, she jumped into the Doctor's arms.

They spent the rest of the afternoon working together. He explained the ins and outs of the shop in dubious technical terms. Apparently, complementing the cash register was the best way to get it to open its drawer, and that trick worked with other parts of the shop as well. New customers came in to order books, and he taught her the procedure. Her proudest moment came when a red-haired girl asked for recommendations, and Rose had to step in because the Doctor's chick lit knowledge proved lackluster. The girl left with three books.

"Well done," he said, somewhat begrudgingly.

Rose strolled around, hands trailing along the books. She felt differently about them now, almost protective. They were her responsibility. She had to find them a good home.

The shop's meandering rows of shelves guided her right back to where she was this morning: at its heart. With Mickey and Jackie there, she hadn't had a chance to see which novels the Doctor considered love stories. She found the usual Austens, Brontës and Shakespeares. Fairy tales, Sappho's poems, even self-esteem books. But also stories of friendship and filial love. She smiled at the collection of homemade mixtapes dedicated to stranger's crushes and exes— where did he find all this stuff? Of course, he'd thrown in a few cardiology manuals for the more pragmatic souls. A shaky floor plank revealed Edgar Allan Poe's _Tell-tale heart_.

Maybe the Doctor would let her choose the places— and hiding places— of the next books they would receive. Her mind burst with ideas to improve the shop and attract more customers. She wanted to host thematic events, books signings, literary blind dates and book clubs. She kept the ideas to herself for now or else she might scare the Doctor. But it felt amazing to know that she could contribute rather than just do as she was told.

Rose sat on the floor and continued her exploration of the lowest "romance" shelves. Beside _The heart is a lonely hunter_ , she found the item that puzzled her the most: a Pink Floyd vinyl of a single entitled "Things left unsaid". She traced the tirle with her index, it spoke to her of secret crushes and white lies, of "it's not you, it's me" and missed chances. But what did it mean to the Doctor?

She contemplated the cover art until she felt the Doctor's presence behind her. He glanced at the album, but didn't offer an explanation. Instead, he took it from her and slotted it back in its place. He held Rose's hand to help her to her feet. She didn't break the contact, and he stroked her knuckles with his thumb. Questions jostled about in her head, but she focused on his touch; Delicacy in a man all sharp angles and thick skin. Just as she was about to say something, he dropped her hand and turned around.

Outside, the grey sky poured heavy rain over the city. The Doctor offered her a ride. They didn't exchange a word. She hoped it wouldn't always be like that, that one day she would get to see past his cover. She thought back on the little he had revealed to her these past weeks. He'd lived all over the world. How wonderful. But it also meant transitory homes and temporary relationships. He'd had to say goodbye so often. A life of interims and passing-throughs.

In front of the estate, he killed the engine. Rose didn't unbuckle, didn't move to open the door. The Doctor stared ahead. Rain cascading down the windshield blurred the outside world, and the staccato of drops on metal filled the silence.

Keeping her voice low, Rose asked: "What did you mean yesterday, when you said you could be gone in a week?"

"Exactly that."

"But you've only just opened the shop."

He shrugged. "And if I don't like it, I can sell it and pack my bags."

Rose toyed with her thumb ring. She let his words sink in. The reality of them. The inevitability.

"Well, you wouldn't have to sell it, coz I can take care of it for you… and then you can come back. It'd still be there. _I_ 'd still be there."

He looked at her for the first time since getting in the car. His lips pressed together in a thin line. "But you would be the one stuck in London."

"So?"

"I don't want that for you."

Rose shrugged. She wanted to travel and see the world, but it was such a vague concept, out of reach, lost in a fog of hope. In this moment, she wanted the bookshop and the Doctor more. Those things, she could hold on to.

She didn't tell him that.

Still, he smiled at her, one of his manic grin as sudden as a plot twist. "We're going to need a third employee."

And she thought, his saying so wasn't unlike a promise.


End file.
